


Fly Me To The Moon

by thenightwing



Category: Batman - Fandom, DCU
Genre: Character Study, F/M, near-death drabble, verge of death drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22334746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightwing/pseuds/thenightwing
Summary: In another world, you would have been just Jason Todd.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	Fly Me To The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> *vague descriptions/mentions of sexual assault  
> *mentions of drug use  
> *not beta-ed so there may be mistakes, I'm sorry!

_***_

_Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars._

It's amazing, isn't it? How unpredictable life can be.

You never would have thought, when you signed up to be Batman's sidekick, that one day you'd be lying in a dark alley, a crooked smile on your face while red patches of blood Stain your black suit, enjoying what's left of mother nature got to offer.

No fights had ever gone so horribly, and you were so caught off guard by your arrogance and carelessness to take notice of the sniper from the adjacent building.

You chuckled, envisioning the sound of Bruce Wayne going off about safety and correct protocols.

Hypocritical asshole. As if he was the ever model hero he tried so hard to be.

Much to your annoyance, there was a pang of betrayal throbbing in your thought-to-be-cold heart at the thought of him.

 _A new Robin,_ you realized. _It was necessary,_ he said.

A hero, you spat. _He was not your hero._

_***_

_Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars._

You think back on the day Bruce found you, dirty and scrawny, barely being able to get by each day with stolen food from the nearby diner, excited for a shiny tire that sparkled from alleys and streets away.

It'd get you a good steak, with bread and chips and everything, from Albert's. Oh how wonderful.

The thought of being completely full for one night was so appealing. But the look on Batman's face when he noticed a missing part of his dark blue Batmobile was worth tens and twenties of steak.

A hint of surprise, a fraction of awe, and a lot of incredulousness.

And besides from the moment you were made Robin, that was by far the proudest you had ever felt about yourself.

Fighting side by side with the greatest hero of Gotham, that's practically every kid's dream.

The black mask was the last thing you put on. And it was an image you wanted to print even during a time when it took thirty seconds for a camera to take a picture.

You got to experience everything firsthand (later on you knew, you weren't the first and definitely weren't the last), and you were so happy.

The memories remained with you even down in hell.

 _"This is the happiest day of my life!"_ you had squealed, a proud smile, cheeky and toothy, was etched on the corners of your lips.

Bruce, in his full Batman regalia pardon of the cowl, gave away a tint of amusement when you noticed the unusual glimmer in his dark eyes.

_***_

_In other words, hold my hand._

Years and years of fighting bad guys and witnessing the worsts of the worsts, you formed your own opinion as a person.

Tragically, like your very own existence, it was deemed unacceptable and unwanted.

You remember that night, when you stormed inside a casino, furious and hot-blooded from youth and righteous anger, breaking a drug dealer's ankle and another's neck.

Most importantly, you remember, and can still hear, the sound of Bruce's voice as he condemned your _"lack of a logic and reckless and stupid and criminal-like"_ persona.

15 years old and yet to even grow hair on your chin, you swallowed your tears and promised to try to be better.

You remembered the lifeless body of your father, found under the feet of a low-life criminal, and you ached for attention, affection, and a father's love.

You wanted him to be proud. You wanted him to be happy.

You wanted him to love you.

_***_

_In other words, baby kiss me._

There was a girl. There always was.

She was beautiful, or at least so in your hormonal teenaged-self's eyes.

16 years in life, and you swore you have never seen such a gorgeous human being.

She was beautiful, elegant like a princess and fierce-some like a warrior, striding into the bookstore you worked part-time for and almost at once, you fell.

Dark, chocolate hair flowed past her shoulders. Green eyes that outshone even the oh-so fearsome Kryptonite. A pair of lips that rivaled the plumpness of a cherry. And a voice, angelic and clear and so very _silky_ , caused you to fawn and stumble and stutter like the prepubescent boy you supposedly were.

 _You're a creep._ You told yourself as you convinced Batman to rest and let you have his patrol, just so you could steal a glimpse of her in her sundress, dancing and singing lovingly to her dog to the tune of Frank Sinatra in a bedroom filled with chandeliers and candles, happy and bright, and the sunshine of your somber life.

 _You don't get it._ You told Bruce when he found out, reprimanded you about the rights of privacy and about how you had better things to do then stalking some girl, like _"Protect the city, maybe? Or are you just wearing the suit for the purpose to impress?"_

 _You are beautiful._ You told her after she caught you red-handed, following her from the rooftops. She blushed, an adorable shimmer of peach on her cheeks, before stammering out a _"Weirdo!"_ before walking away.

 _You are welcome._ You told her after she thanked you from, coincidentally you swore, spotting her in trouble with the neighborhood thugs and helped get her home. You had smiled, a dimpled grin that wasn't covered by the mask and 100% approved and assured by Alfred that _"would surely help you charm the lady of your dream, Master Todd"_ and rambled on that this was your mission, and that she should go home quick because it wasn't safe for someone as exquisite as hers to wander around alone at night.

 _Thank you._ She repeated, once more, before shyly rising on her tip toes and gave you a kiss so sweet and so chaste that you barely felt it on your lips, before sprinting away. You stood in that alleyway for what seemed like an hour before Bruce's voice echoed in your communicator and beckoned for you to get home.

 _I love you._ You told her, shocked and frozen and stone-cold in front of her tombstone, after a year of dating and a day after her death. The culprit had been taken care of, you made sure. You didn't get the satisfaction you thought you would, especially not when you clearly saw the disappointment and anger in Bruce's face at the dismembered body on the floor. But you didn't regret it, not even once. Especially not when the image of her parents collapsing on their knees, clutching their daughter's remaining scraps of clothes, torn and burnt and just, _ruined_ , in their hands with her body lying there for everyone to see.

_***_

_Fill my heart with songs, and let me sing forever more._

Killing became the norm then. Or something so close to death, but weren't.

You struggled to breath as you lived. You struggled to talk as you screamed.

You struggled. Just, struggled.

A day felt like a year. And not long after, it became nothing more than a hindrance to sit back and think about what life had in store for you next.

You were always on the move, exhausting yourself to the core and dedicated yourself to the mask more than you ever possible could.

It wasn't long until one fateful day, when you saw a name you never thought you would encounter ever again.

Sheila Haywood, your biological mother.

Sounds of hammer clamping down on woods and cries of agony echoed in the back of your mind, bringing back the absolute desperation and sadness of being separated from the only person you had ever truly loved.

The elation of the discovery dimmed quickly when you realized the chain of connection between her and him, The Joker.

Working together with Batman, you unrecovered the truth, and were determined to find a way to help her get her life back and therefore, hopefully, take you back as her son and became a real family once more.

It was all a trap, a devastating truth that slapped you in the face as you sat there, tied to a chair, and stared at the bloody face of your mother, who, a minute before, was glancing down the floor in shame as words of mockery and _"Fool!"_ rang inside the tiny warehouse. _._

A crowbar appeared.

A manic laugh erupted.

And _pain, pain,_ and more _pain,_ and you forgot to be disappointed and hurt.

You just wanted to live. You wanted to be with the person who chose you.

You wanted to be with the person who _chose_ to love you.

You wanted to come home to him.

And then the bomb went off.

_***_

_You are all I want, all I want and worship and adore._

It's ironic how after everything that happened, how after you literally defied all the norms of the world and came back to life, you still can't reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

Every day it was fighting for the poor, stealing from the rich, protecting the innocent, and killing the cruel.

But it wasn't always black and white, and it never stopped. And that was what exhausted you the most.

The seed of evil, coming from the Pandora box, was too much, spread too far and entirely impossible to stop.

The satisfaction of saving a child from being raped was put aside for the worry of protecting a wife from being beaten to death by her spouse. The joy of getting someone's home back from the mafia was pushed away for the fury of getting there too late and send another little angel back to God.

It kept going, and going, and going.

Different every time. But it hurt just the same.

So close you came to drugs, but the laughs and slurred words of your stepmom before her last dose always stopped you there. And it just added to the whole misery when you couldn't just drink the pain away.

They haunted you every night.

The cries. The pains. And the deaths.

The laughs. The warmth. The kisses. And the smiles.

Until it all became too much, and your subconscious gave up.

_***_

_In other words, please be true._

In another world, you would have grown up with the family you were born into.

In that world, you would have been just Jason.

Just Jason, the beautiful green-eyed dark-haired son of Willis Todd and Sheila Haywood,

Just Jason, the jock with a dimple that can charm all the girls and the potential successor to his father's auto body shop.

Just Jason, the successful and loving spouse of one beautiful and exquisite chocolate-brunette with green eyes.

Just Jason, a stranger to Bruce Wayne.

Just Jason. Jason Todd.

Not Robin. And not Red Hood.

_***_

_In other words, I love you._

You smiled, a quick quirk that faded as the rain lightened, a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds as the people awoke and welcomed a new day in Gotham, and it warmed your stone-cold body from inside and out.

The crimson patches should be dry by now, you thought.

Your fingers had lost feelings hours ago, soon you would feel extremely lightheaded and sleepy.

It would become hard to breathe in a minute or two.

There would be music beats instead of heart beats where your chest was.

Closing your eyes, you saw a blimp from afar.

It flashed all of black, green and red. All at the same time.

You walked towards it, and you knew.

You were home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
